"However will I cope with the criticism," Solomon retorted, running his hands through his hair. At least his hands weren't shaking, or anything equally humiliating. He'd always known he wasn't particularly fond of water; he just hadn't realised those feelings ran as deeply as they apparently did. Even with the water as still as it was, looking into it made him feel nervous.

Nervous. It was ridiculous. Childish. Unconscionable. He hadn't even enjoyed being afraid of Vile, and Vile was far worthier of fear than some still water.

It's alright! I know he likes me. Marcelon craned her head to laugh at him with that barking chortle the turtles had.

"At the moment, that's up for debate." Solomon didn't like feeling as though he'd been backed into a corner, either, but the alternative was to back out, and it was far too late for that. He had some pride to consider.

So Solomon took a deep breath, reminded himself that shadows existed just as much under water as on land if he needed the help, and slid gingerly into the water, clutching Marcelon's shell. She very obligingly held her flipper under him so he had something semi-sturdy to stand on until he was properly in, and then the moment he had done so pulled away in an unexpected but lazy curve until he was left spluttering on his own.

It was, he found, substantially easier to keep his head above water when there wasn't a storm, winds and high waves involved; but when he paddled vainly in Marcelon's direction it was still obvious he didn't know much more than to keep his head above water for however many feet it took to get somewhere more stable.

You CAN'T swim, Marcelon said in a shocked tone, as if he'd been lying earlier, and Solomon glared at her, not daring to try to speak until he could take hold of her shell again.